


Hot as a Stiff What?

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cooking Foreplay, Fluff, Fun with cooking, Hannibal is a sensitive cannibal, Julie and Julia Prompt, M/M, Sexy cooking innuendos, The pasta isn't people, Will Cooks, cannibal cooking, post wotl, will is a tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is trying his hand at cooking. Hannibal is trying to keep his hands off Will. One is more successful than the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot as a Stiff What?

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this on my personal Hannibal, who convinced me to write something instead of obsessively reading other works. I’ve never written Hannigram before, just lurked, so be kind and all that other writerly insecurity stuff.  
> This is based on a Julie and Julia Prompt - _Have Will say Julia Child’s famous “these damn things are as hot as a stiff cock!” line and work in Hannibal using Paul Child’s “You are the butter to my bread, the breath to my life” line._

Will snatches the cannelloni from the boiling water, a move he’s seen Hannibal perform dozens of times. When Hannibal does it, it’s almost a ballet – hot pasta arching in the air trailed by steaming water droplets. When Will attempts it, the boiling water slaps against his inexperienced fingers, causing his hand to inelegantly jerk.

“These damn things are as hot as a stiff cock!” Will hisses as he flings the offending cannelloni into the drainer. Behind him, Hannibal’s rhythmic chopping falters, then stops.

“What did you say?” Will can feel heat along his back, the only indication that Hannibal has moved closer.

“Nothing, the pasta just reminded me of someone.”

“Someone?” The word was spoken into his neck, Hannibal’s nose nuzzling into the curls at the base of his skull. Will leans into the heat, singed fingers forgotten.

“You might know him. Fancy-pants doctor. Wears a lot of ill-advised plaid. Believes music stopped after Igor Stravinsky died. Has cheekbones that could cut glass.” Hannibal’s arm closes around Will’s waist, turning him until his sly smile is inches from his face. Will’s scar crinkles into a dimple as his smile stretches. “And he has one hell of a cannelloni.” 

Hannibal leans in, caging Will to the counter. Will feels the brief triumph that flairs whenever he makes Hannibal forget about food prep. He wants to mention that the rest of the cannelloni need to be drained, but Hannibal’s gaze traps him.

Hannibal leans in, briefly sniffing Will’s neck, mouth tantalizingly close.

“Will, you are the butter to my bread, the breath to my life,” he whispers, dropping his gaze to Will’s curved lips.

Hannibal doesn’t expect the forceful expulsion of air and spittle that lands on his face as Will starts laughing.

“Jesus. The butter to your bread? You sure I’m not the plastic suit to your crime scene?” Will’s laughing so hard tears stream down his face. “Christ, I love you, you lunatic.” 

Wiping his eyes, Will registers that the warm blanket of body heat is now gone. 

“Hannibal? …Hannibal? Oh come on! Come back! I was kidding! You’re the butter to my bread too. …Do you want me to say the thing about the stiff cock again?”

Will hears Hannibal’s retreating footsteps pause.

“Yup, these cannelloni sure do remind me of stiff cocks,” Will continues a little louder. “But how can I get anymore cooking done in this hot kitchen? Guess I’ll have to take this shirt off…”

Will strips off his shirt, tossing it toward the faint sound of approaching footsteps. The scrap of cloth lands next to an Italian loafer.

Maroon eyes look around the door frame. Hannibal’s mouth is set in a moue of distaste. Will smiles and raises his eyebrow, he’s always been a good fisherman.

“It’s rude to leave before dinner’s ready, Hannibal,” he scolds. Hannibal inches back into the room, steps stiff and formal. Will dips his head and flutters his lashes. “Were you really just going to leave me with nothing but my cannelloni in my hand?” he purrs.

Hannibal’s mouth ticks, just the barest curve at the corner before it vanishes. He's just out of reach, but edging closer every second.

“That would be a shame.”

“So,” Will says, running his hand slowly up and down Hannibal’s lapels, carefully reeling him in. “Are you going to help me finish?”

Hannibal’s eyes darken and he leans again, lips ghosting over Will’s scar. “Of course.”

“Great,” Will whispers, pulling his cannibal in for a long, slow kiss. He releases Hannibal’s lapels and quirks an eyebrow “You can butter the bread.”


End file.
